MY MOTHER LEFT ME BEHIND AT AN AIRPORT WHEN I WAS ONLY EIGHT—WALKING AWAY WITH HER NEW HUSBAND AND HIS CHILDREN WHILE I CLUTCHED A BACKPACK AND A STUFFED BUNNY. WHEN SHE RETURNED, MY BEDROOM WAS EMPTY… AND LEGAL DOCUMENTS WERE WAITING FOR HER.

Even now, the smell of cinnamon rolls mixed with jet fuel can make my stomach tighten in panic, dragging me straight back to the moment my entire life changed direction.

I sat in a row of connected airport chairs, my feet swinging uselessly above the carpet. My hands gripped the floppy ears of Barnaby, my stuffed rabbit, while my purple backpack rested heavily against my side like something I was forbidden to set down. Standing nearby was my mother, nervously checking the departure screens over and over with an urgency I was too young to understand.…continue reading …